


( his children of wrath )

by Acacius



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, OT3, Vampirism, also warnings for cassidy being far more vampiric than usual, and jesse and tulip share the brunt of cassidy's breakdown, but also i love angst, i love these kids a lot okay, it'll have a happy ending at the end i promise, so here ya go, the poor lad's having a rough time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacius/pseuds/Acacius
Summary: AU | Cassidy is selfish. The fallout lasts decades. In which Cassidy turns Jesse and Tulip in a last ditch effort to cure the ache of loneliness in his heart.





	( his children of wrath )

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all hope u like angst as much as i do :') i'll have the 2nd chap up asap but for the time being, feel free to come say hi on tumblr and yell at me about preacher @triumviratuse if ya want !!  
> -acacius

... 

The first time Tulip is shot, Cassidy loses it. 

It’s just a graze, bullet whizzing by her calf as the dying man’s grip on his weapon falters, but the vampire is on him a second later. His movements are feral, nails biting into unyielding flesh, teeth burying deep into the carotid, letting loose a fountain of blood as he near growls, teeth clamping shut again and again until the man’s severed head thuds to the ground. Jesse rushes to Tulip’s side, eyes never leaving Cassidy’s hunched form across the room. 

The bloodstained face that snarls back at them is so far from their Cassidy that Jesse nearly uses Genesis out of reflex. He wants to order the monster in front of him to stop, to give him back the man who could ramble on for hours, who was always ready for mischief or mayhem, who had their backs till the end of the world—but his throat feels dry and he can’t quite seem to push the orders past his lips. It was so easy to forget what Cassidy really was, sometimes. 

“Cass…” Jesse says instead, voice soft like he used to do when Tulip woke from a nightmare when they were kids. 

No response. Cassidy is completely still, not even breathing now. There is no rise and fall apparent at his chest, the thin, threadbare tank clinging to his skin. He regards the pair with nothing short of animalistic interest, eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to lap at the blood drying against his upper lip. His head tips to the side ever so slowly, gaze flickering between the two warm and blood-filled humans with renewed hunger. 

“Give the vampire shtick a friggin’ rest, Cassidy. You don’t scare me.” Tulip rises to stand, leaning back against Jesse as she runs a bloody hand through her curls. She’d seen Cassidy at his worst before—nearly burned to death, a husk of a man, snarling and attempting to snag a finger or two the second she got too close. But Jesse hadn’t seen that, didn’t know how bad he could really get, and it is equal parts protectiveness and wanting to soothe the beast out of Cassidy that has her pressing a hand to Jesse’s thigh, an unspoken _Stay behind me._

Jesse doesn’t move to follow, but he reaches for his gun, pointing it a few inches above Tulip’s shoulder, at the left side of Cassidy’s chest. There was only a slight tremble to his hand, which goes away the moment he stands in position, imagining instead that his gun is aimed at a monster. The ease to which he could switch between seeing Cass and seeing a monster to be killed was damn near terrifying and there was nothing Jesse could do except tighten his grip on the weapon.

His shoulders slack in relief when Tulip brushes Cass’ arm and he blinks rapidly, the crooked sneer disappearing in favor of an open-mouthed “Oh,” as if he’d woken from some sort of deep sleep.

Jesse shoves the gun back in its holster. Cassidy drapes an arm around Tulip’s shoulders, knees bending to take stock of the woman’s injuries. He furrows his brows, concern etching his features at the blood that blooms on Tulip’s ruined jeans, giving a few curt nods. 

“Aye, I see. Just a knick then. Good. Thought you’d been hit directly by that gobeshite. How are you fairing, Jess?” He turns his attention to Jesse with uncharacteristic naivety, as if he hadn’t been ready to rip into his throat minutes before. 

“I’m fine, Cass…” Jesse pauses, rubbing at the back of his neck and giving a long exhale. “Are you okay?” 

“Me?” Cassidy points to himself before waving a hand dismissively. “I’m perfectly fine, Padre. Right as rain, as they say. No need to worry ‘bout me—lost my head there for a bit. Happens sometimes. But I’d never hurt you two, I swear it. “

Before Jesse can respond, Tulip cuts in, tugging Cassidy with her. “So, what’re we doing chatting here? Let’s go home.” She offers her free hand to Jesse. He takes it, leading Tulip and Cassidy out of the blood-soaked room. They all walk hand-in-hand, three bleeding, broken individuals, back to their motel. 

...

It is not the last time Cassidy loses control. He has a moment here and there, when he thinks the only two people that he genuinely cares about in the world are in danger. He even starts to have his own brand of nightmares—his screams audible even when they have separate rooms. It’d been so long since he’d felt anything akin to true companionship in his long life, the last being the few blissful moments with his brother before being dragged into a swamp and turned into a bloodsucking monster. Cassidy could feel the weight of Jesse and Tulip’s mortality against him, like someone was throwing jagged boulders onto his chest. It was damn near killing him. 

In his dreams, he’d seen them die in too many horrific ways—a byproduct of an active imagination and the inevitable darkness that rested inside him. He sees them mowed down by a spray of bullets. Imagines them being blown to pieces. Imagines them drowning, hands thrashing against the water, stirring up waves while he could do nothing but watch them die. The worst dreams were the ones where it was by his hand. He watched the life bleed out of them, the hunger in his gut growing as crimson poured and poured out of their bodies. There’d be enough blood for him to wade through by the end of it, when they were nothing but skin and bones. He always woke up from those dreams screaming. 

They end up all sharing a room after his last episode. It’s under the guise of saving money even though they have plenty, and if there were times where it was Cassidy who ended up wedged between Jesse and Tulip, well, nothing much was said. If he sometimes brushed a hand to their chests just to feel their heartbeats, not realizing that they were both still awake, neither Jesse nor Tulip brought it up. 

Ever so slowly, the nightmares begin to fade. A new sense of normalcy is established. They go back to their usual gun-slinging ways. They’d even go so far as to say that they were happy. 

Until one day, another accident occurs. 

Jesse hisses in pain as he slides down to the floor, fingers trembling against the wound at his stomach. His vision blurs a bit to where he can barely distinguish between Tulip and Cassidy and the crazed vampire hunters who brandish all sorts of weapons. He hears Cassidy’s voice take on a low, threatening tone. What follows after can only be described as a cacophony of screams. 

Something wet and warm flicks across his face. He hears someone collide with the wall beside him, more blood spraying onto Jesse in the process. He’s got it covering his face and arms by the time the last vampire hunter is silenced, a meek and pitiful cry that echoes dimly in the now dilapidated hotel room as his neck gives way, snapping audibly to the side.

Somewhere between consciousness and the gentle lull of oblivion, Jesse sees a figure stalk towards him—tall, lanky, a pale blur that ebbs and fades until he feels himself being pulled up by his wrists. 

Jesse curses in pain at the sudden movement, but makes no move to fend off his attacker. “Cass, it’s me. Come on.” He grits through his teeth, tilting his head to lock eyes with the vampire, stubborn and obstinate to the end. 

“J-jess?” Cassidy asks, voice soft. Frightened. He releases his grip on Jesse as if he’s touched a hot stove. Tulip, who had otherwise been hidden behind Cass’ larger form, throws the tire-iron down. It clanks noisily to the concrete as Cassidy slinks back to the center of his carnage, away from Jesse and Tulip. 

Shame gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he toes a severed hand with his bloodstained boot, gaze never leaving the pile of bodies before him. There was self-defense… and then there was losing one’s self to bloodlust. 

He’d seen Jesse and Tulip do it plenty of times. The first time he’d ever seen Jesse, the man had grinned and proceeded to break a man’s arm clean in half—and had enjoyed every second of it. Tulip never had any qualms with her violent side; it was a tool, a necessary evil, if only to keep those around her safe. But Cassidy’s darkness was different. It was insidious, serpentine, a noose that snaked around a person’s throat until they were gasping for breath. It was a darkness so suffocating that even drugs and sex and booze couldn’t snuff it out. 

It was what he feared to be his true self—and here it was, out in the open, on display for the only people he’d ever cared about to see and judge and recoil at its grotesqueness. Just knowing how they must see him now, as an unstable charity case with questionable morals, made him sick to his stomach.

“Cass, you’ve got your phone on you, don’t you?” Tulip asks, breathless, as she helps Jesse to his feet. The preacher stumbles with her a few steps before he’s deposited into the nearest armchair, collapsing into the once lime-green upholstery with a groan. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll call him an ambulance!” Cassidy masks his otherwise obvious discomfort with a tight-lipped grin, tapping the three digits into his screen blindly due to all the cracks in his screen protector. His eyes dart to the pair, watching as Tulip ran her fingers through Jesse’s hair, her free hand placed comfortingly at his knee. 

In the end, it was the pain in Jesse’s eyes and the worry that overtook Tulip’s face that sealed their fates. He couldn’t bear to lose them—not today, not a decade from now, not even a century into the future. 

... 

“I’m sorry,” Cassidy says before ripping into Jesse’s throat. 

He decides to take Jesse down first—knowing he’d be the easier of the two for him to damn. Not because he didn’t care for Jesse as much as Tulip, or that he never saw Jesse as a threat, but because with his hand clamped around Jesse’s mouth, the scent of alcohol heavy in the air, there was little chance that Jesse could overpower him. They stagger around the living room, Jesse falling onto the ground, stubborn despite it all, trying to pry the vampire off him. 

Like a marionette with tangled strings, Cassidy struggled to keep Jesse in place, hands clamping around the preacher’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. Even in his inebriated state, there is a sobering realization to Cassidy’s actions, to the fact that it is Cassidy’s teeth buried in his neck, that has Jesse Custer blinking out a few tears before the hand that had clung desperately to the back of Cassidy’s shirt falls down, rivulets of blood dripping down his fingers and onto the floor below. The vampire drinks and drinks, nearly gorging himself on the preacher’s blood, until he has to force himself to pull away. 

Cassidy props Jesse up against the sofa when he’s sure the man’s heart has stopped, watches as the bite marks begin to fade, sinews of flesh coming back together. As an afterthought, he drapes a blanket over the man. Besides the hunger that consumed him the moment he pulled himself out of the swamp nearly a century ago, Cassidy also remembers the chill that set into his bones, a coldness that never did quite go away. 

Before he can go and find Tulip, supposedly long asleep in the room the three of them shared, Cassidy hears her footsteps. And then a pained gasp. 

“Cassidy, what the hell happened?” She pushes past the vampire to press a frantic hand to Jesse’s pulse. She tilts her head down, listening for a heartbeat that would never come. 

“I’m sorry,” He says again, more to himself than anyone else. “But I need you two.” 

“Need us? Cassidy, you can’t just go turnin’ people into vampires! You lied to us!” Her anger, an anger that while directed at him at times, had never been stoked so hot. She burned with rage, white-hot like the sun, and Cassidy could feel a part of himself die in her presence. 

“You said you’d never hurt us. We trusted you. How could you do this to him?” _How could you damn his soul?_ Tulip finishes in her head, unable, even in her rage, to let those words slip through. 

That’s how Jesse would see it, when he woke up, when he’d shaken off his last vestiges of mortality to live with what he’d become. If he’d even decide to live at all. A frightening vision of Jesse, dazed and unwilling to accept what he’d become, stumbling out into the sun, flashes in Tulip’s mind and it takes all of her willpower to not throw a punch at Cassidy. 

And what could Cassidy say? That he was sorry that he was selfish? Sorry that he was such a fuck up? Sorry that he’d gone and damned one of his only friends to hell? Sorry that he’d been abandoned by a God who’d rather spit on Cassidy’s face than give him one good thing in the world? 

There were no words that could right his wrongs, no collection of apologies stored in the drug-abused mind of a 119-year-old vampire that could ever give him even a shred of forgiveness. Proinsias Cassidy had proven what he was: a mistake. An abomination. A monster with an aching heart. A monster without a home. A monster without a family. 

He attacks the moment Tulip has her back turned to him, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes. Every fiber of his being cries out in grief, but it doesn’t stop him from drinking the warm blood that mixes with Jesse’s against his tongue. It doesn’t stop him from drinking his fill, a perverse fantasy come to life. 

Here he was, killing the only people who gave a damn about him, who shared their souls with him, who had loved him with all their heart—and all he could think was: _I’ll never be alone again._

He was horribly wrong.


End file.
